An Ideal Marriage
by patsan
Summary: "Do you love me enough to spend your life with me?" he said. "If you don't, then say no... If you do... then say yes." And what if Mary did have an answer? 1x07 AU
1. Chapter 1

A while ago the lovely **Ultrahotpink** gave me a prompt on Tumblr, and a ficlet was born. But then I was asked to continue it, and... the story kind of took life on its on.

So, what if Mary had a different answer for Matthew back in 1914?

I have to say, this scenario is so... obvious, in a way, that it's a wonder there aren't many fics about it, and yet, it's easy to understand why, since there were too many things left unsaid between them back then, countless issues they would need to face, and they simply weren't ready at that point of their lives. Blinded by their own feelings and beliefs about life, they just weren't ready to accept the other's love.

But... what if they'd just, you know, _talked_?

And could they really, be honest, and understand each other? Could it work out in the end? Many, many questions, my friends, and this is my answer :)

I hope you enjoy it, just as much as I enjoyed writing it.

This chapter is actually a re-run, since it's already been posted on my Tumblr, but the rest is already written, so the second and third part (which is also the last) will be available in the next weeks.

Many thanks to **Orangeshipper**, for her invaluable advices about Matthew, and to **AnniellaEyes**, for the polish :D

Enjoy!

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**Chapter One  
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**.**

"Why do we have to rush into it?" Mary cried, and her desperation grew, as did the volume of her voice.

Oh, but why couldn't he see? Why didn't he understand?

She took a deep breath, to try and calm herself. "I need to be sure," she added then, more quietly, "that's all."

"But you were sure," he said, with the tone one would use with a stubborn child. He paused, and when he looked up at her again his eyes were blazing, and she felt a shiver run up her back, and it wasn't pleasant, but she couldn't understand what it was. "Shall I tell you what I think has altered you?" he continued, eyes boring into hers. "My prospects. Because nothing else has changed!"

He turned away from her, ever so slightly, and she understood what it was, that shiver, she understood what it was that made her heart beat so fast in her chest, that closed her throat, made her hands shake. "No," she tried, but it was weak, defeated even to her own ears.

"Yes!" he almost yelled, and she knew, she knew what it was. It was _fear_. "If your mother's child's a boy," he continued, "then he's the heir and I go back to living on my wits, and you'd rather not follow me there," he added, a note of desperation and disappointment in his voice that made her heart clench.

She swallowed hard, and felt tears forming in her eyes, for she knew she was hurting him, as she was hurting herself, and she didn't want to. She wanted him to be happy, he deserved to be happy. But how could she accept him? How could she put all her doubts aside, all her fears?

And what if it _was_ a boy?

What if she ended up hating him? What if she ended up hating herself?

And... there was still her secret. How could she accept him without telling him? How could she keep this from him? Didn't he deserve better?

She raised her head, but could not look at him. "Oh, Matthew," she said, sadly, desperately, watching through glassy eyes the big house that stood tall not far from them, "you always make everything so black and white."

And something in her face, in her voice must have struck a chord in Matthew's heart, for his gaze was tender when she dared to look at him soon afterwards, and he came closer to her, took her hand in his.

His voice was low when he talked, looking deeply in her eyes. "I think this is black and white, Mary. Do you love me enough to spend your life with me? If you don't, then say no..." he paused, and she felt her heart stop. "If you do... then say yes."

He fell silent, and the world around them fell still, and Mary found out that she could not talk, she could not breathe, she could not understand. She could only feel the warmth of his skin against her gloved hand, could only see the pleading look in his eyes, the fullness of his lips.

She looked up at him, and the only thing she knew was that she... she did love him, a very great deal.

_Do you love Matthew?_ her mother had asked, and she'd answered, without hesitation, without doubts. _"Yes,"_ she'd said, easily.

"Yes," she repeated now, barely a whisper, and then, more surely, squeezing his hand between hers. "Yes."

And he smiled, the most beautiful smile she'd ever seen, and she smiled back, and accepted his passionate kiss with a sigh of relief, of hope, of love.

She hugged him to her as they kissed, threaded her fingers in his hair, held him close to her, with her arms, her hands, leaning heavily against him. She breathed in his scent when they separated, revealed in his closeness, in the feel of his arms still surrounding her.

She moved back a little, as he caressed her face with his fingers, and she leaned into his touch. She lifted her eyes to his, and smiled, for there was a deep affection shining there, a sweet adoration, and love, so much love that she felt bold, like she'd never had before, and brave, and she thought that maybe... _maybe_...

"And do _you_ love me, Matthew?" she asked, her voice small, her breath coming faster, because this was it, the moment that decided her whole life.

He kissed her again, briefly, on her lips. "What do you think?" he asked teasingly, and she gave him a small adoring smile, for she loved when he was flirty and funny. She loved him, and he loved her, and she felt brave in his arms.

A stormbraver.

So she smiled a little wider, and held his hand closer to her chest. Her eyes locked with his.

"Then I have something to tell you," she said, as she prayed, with all her heart, that she was right about this, about him, about them.

She took a deep breath and told him everything.

.

* * *

.

He was silent for the longest of times. His eyes were wide, staring back at her with shock, his expression so dumbstruck that had they been in a different situation she would've found it hilarious. It threatened to break her heart instead, and so she kept holding his hand in hers, patiently waiting for him to say something, anything.

Eventually Matthew's eyes dropped on their linked hands, and she saw him swallow, as he moved slightly back, but she followed him, and when he tried to pry his hand from hers she didn't let him, squeezing it more tightly between her own.

He lifted his gaze on her then, his brow furrowing, and his lips were pressed together. "Mary..." he began, his tone halfway between a warning and a prayer.

"No," she said, as she moved a little closer, because she knew that if she let go now, if he turned his back on her now, there would be no coming back for them.

He looked surprised by her countenance, by her physical strength even, as her hold on his hand didn't lessen.

She could see a hint of irritation in his clear eyes too, but many other emotions shone in them as well, some of them hard to decipher, and so she spoke, her voice hurried, but determined. "You said you loved me," she tried. "Weeks ago when you proposed to me, you told me you loved me." She felt herself tremble as she remembered his whispered confession that night, how he'd held her close as they kissed, how his hands had smoothed the silk of her dress over her waist. She took a trembling breath, and looked up at him, as a terrible thought crossed her mind. "Unless you were... playing with me?"

Matthew's eyes widened at this and anger overcame everything else, and she knew she was wrong as a burst of hope filled her heart at his indignation.

"How can you accuse me of such a thing?" he said, his voice trembling with rage. "How could you even think something like that when it's you that... when you just... Ah!"

He yanked his hand away from hers at last, and took a few angry steps away from her.

She stayed still, and she could see his chest rising and falling quickly under his suit, as he took deep breaths to calm himself, but for some reason that made _her_ angry, that he could think her capable of playing with him, still, even after she'd accepted him when his future was so uncertain. "When I just what, Matthew?" she spat back then.

He looked at her, his lips pressed tightly together, and he shook his head. "Don't make me say it, Mary, I don't think I can..."

And she saw red. "What is it that you can't say, Matthew?" she exclaimed. "Because I can, and I will!"

"Mary..."

"I took a _lover_, Matthew!" she cried. "I disgraced myself by letting a man in my bed without thought of marriage! I have fallen, I am impure!"

"Stop it, Mary, just... stop it!"

"Why should I, when I'm only saying things as they are?" she said, and she felt wet against her cheeks. She whipped her hands angrily over them, but didn't stop, she couldn't stop, as her voice broke, as her breath became more laboured. "Isn't it how women like me are counted?" she continued desperately. "Pick a name, it makes no difference! Harlot, slut, which is it, Matthew?"

And she broke down. Lady Mary broke down, and she couldn't help it.

Tears fell freely down her face, but she didn't mind, not after everything was lost, and that little hope she'd held slipped through her fingers, away from her heart, leaving only disappointment in its wake, and pain, so much pain.

Oh God, it hurt, for she believed in this, in them, against all hope.

She had just put all her worries aside, _for him_, but how foolish was that?

How could she think even for a moment that he would forgive her? How could she pretend everything could be fine when she knew perfectly well what happened to women like her?

She couldn't even forgive herself, and why would she, when it cost her so much?

How could she hope that he would? Honourable, dutiful Matthew, who deserved a sweet wife. He was right, she did cheat him, she let him see a future for them when there was none, she'd let him hope, when she should have stayed away from him from the very beginning.

And so Mary cried, covering her face with both her hands, as horrible sobs shook her body.

She turned her back on Matthew, trembling with shame, and sorrow, and hoping he would go away, just go away and leave her alone.

She heard his steps, and told herself to hold on, as she swallowed hard and waited for his steps to fade away.

She almost jumped in surprise when she felt a hand on her back instead.

Her sobs stopped at once, and she straightened, her arms hanging helplessly at her sides, her fingers, flexing, then closing into fists, empty and cold without his warmth.

She took a deep breath, looking into the distance through glassy eyes. "I don't want your pity, Matthew," she said, and she was glad that her voice didn't waiver. "You should go now."

"It's not pity," he murmured, and she felt like laughing, but the tears only came faster, and she closed her eyes, shaking her head desperately.

"Go away, I beg you. If you ever loved me, please... let me be. I cannot bear the thought of you despising me."

He took his hand away, and she smiled, but it was her saddest, most teary smile, as her heart shattered and broke into a million pieces, and she wondered for a moment if she'd ever be able of gluing it back together. But Matthew didn't listen to her, he didn't walk away.

He walked around her instead, and she forced herself to open her eyes and meet his. She was surprised to see no trace of hate in them, nor pity, but they were shiny, like he too had been crying.

He looked down at her hand, as though he wanted to take it in his, but didn't dare. "Don't talk about yourself like that," he said, slowly. "It's not what you are."

"Isn't it?" she barely asked.

"It isn't."

She wiped her tears away then, as she studied him silently.

"And I don't despise you, either," he continued. "I never would... I..." he paused, and lowered his head, his face serious. She didn't understand, but she couldn't speak, for he looked up at her again, and his eyes were soft. "I don't think I could ever despise you, Mary," he said, a small smile playing around the corners of his lips.

They fell silent, and she kept looking at him, searching his eyes for any sign that he didn't believe what he was saying, but she found none. And yet his smile didn't reach his eyes, not in the way she was used to, not like it had at Sybil's ball, when they'd danced and danced, and the whole world had begun and ended in their touch, in the sweet kisses they'd shared. He'd smiled then too, breathlessly, and it had been wide, and perfect, and without the shadows that now clouded his gaze.

So she nodded, and she too smiled, sadly, her eyes falling somewhere over his chest. "But you won't have me now," she said, and it wasn't a question.

She lifted her gaze on him again, and the smile had vanished. "Mary..."

"I understand, you don't have to apologize. And I... I probably should thank you, for not despising me." She kept her eyes on him as she talked, even though all she wanted to do was to run away and cry, till sleep claimed her and she could forget this day. "You're a good man, Matthew, I hope you'll find someone that truly deserves you."

She nodded again, more to herself than to him, and finally turned away to leave.

.

_(to be continued)_

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_That's it for the first chapter. I hope you liked it :)_

_Have any guess, speculation, thought? I would LOVE to hear them, they always make my day and help me to become a better writer (goodness, what a word!)._

_Till next time :D_


	2. Chapter 2

And here we are, my lovelies, with the second chapter of this little story.

Before you go on and read it, I want to take a moment to say how thrilled I am by the response the first chapter had! I'm so glad that you're as excited by this as I am, and I very thankful for your support, and not only about this story, but in general. I really treasure it :)

Special thanks to **Orangeshipper** and **AnniellaEyes**, for the polish and for their friendship.

And now, onto the story. Will Matthew let Mary go, just like this? Would the stubbornness of their characters tear them apart, again?

Well, off you go and read it for yourself :)

Enjoy!

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**Chapter Two  
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**.**

Matthew watched as Mary walked away, and all he could think was that he didn't want her to go.

"Wait," he breathed before he could stop himself, but when she didn't and kept moving as though she hadn't heard him, panic rose in his throat. "Mary, please, wait," he said again, more loudly.

Her steps faltered and she stilled. She didn't turn around, but it was enough, and Matthew sighed in relief.

There were so many questions still, so many doubts, about... about what he'd just learnt, about them, but all the same... he couldn't let her go, not like this.

He paused, for only a moment, his lips pressing together in a thin line, as he pushed every thought aside and covered the short distance that separated them in a few, slow steps. He stood there then, right behind Mary, uncertain of what to say or how to say it.

He took a deep breath, hands playing nervously with the hem of his hat, as he struggled to find the words.

Finally, he lifted his head to speak, just as Mary turned to face him.

She didn't turn all the way around, but it was enough to make Matthew almost choke with emotion at the sight before him, for Mary, beautiful, headstrong, stubborn Mary was crying still, her eyes so incredibly, terribly sad, as if a hopeless shadow had taken their light away, burdening the lines of her beloved face with sorrow and... was it resignation he was seeing?

Matthew swallowed hard, as he felt his heart break for her, and every other thought left his mind at once. "Oh Mary," he whispered, stepping forward, and closing the space between them before he even knew it. He took her in his arms, and he could hear her small intake of breath, feel the subtle shivers that ran through her lean body, as tears prickled at his own eyes.

He closed them, and his hat finally slid from his fingers, unnoticed. Everything else just faded away, only she remained, her and him, locked in a closeted embrace in the warm air of this summer day.

Matthew didn't know how long they stayed like this, but it felt all too soon when he finally heard Mary sigh as she put her hands on his chest. He looked down at her, but she kept her head bent. "Matthew..." she muttered, as her fingers slid over his jacket, over one of the buttons that closed his morning suit, the same one his valet had helped him don earlier this morning back at Crawley House.

For some reason, the thought made his heart beat madly in his chest, and he breathed, leaning back, hoping she would raise her face, even for only a moment.

If he could just see her face, look into her deep dark eyes for even an instant, maybe... he might be able to... to ask, to _know_... Oh, but he couldn't even think about it... And yet, at the same time, he could not _not_ think about it, and he had to know, he needed to know, if only for peace of mind.

The thought made him sick, for it wasn't peace he wanted.

God, what an impossible situation theirs was...

Mary's fingers on his chest flexed, and he knew she was about to pull back.

"I do want to marry you, Mary," he said, stopping her, his voice seemingly reverberating in the small space that was between their faces.

Mary didn't look up as he hoped, but she was so close under the rim of her hat, that he could see every little detail, how her jaw tightened, how her lips rubbed against each other. She fit so perfectly into the circle of his arms, all but pressed up against him, and for a flitting moment he thought that if he focused hard enough he might be able to hear her heart beating in her chest. His eyes fell on the curve of her pale neck, and he breathed shakily, licking his lower lip before continuing, carefully, unhurriedly. "I want you to be my wife. I do... Only I... I don't know if... I-" He stopped, and sighed deeply, then shook his head in frustration. "Mary-"

"I understand, Matthew", she said, and paused. Then, finally, she lifted her face and met his gaze with hers.

A little sad smile was curving her lips, and her hands fell away from over his heart, rested on his forearms, slid down in his hands, squeezing them tightly for a long moment before letting go. He mimicked her gesture and let her go as well, and couldn't help noticing how empty his arms felt without her there.

They stood apart, the space between them widening as they both took half a step backwards, and they looked at each other from a distance that was proper again.

"There are rumours about me in London, about my virtue," Mary said suddenly, and a new heaviness settled low in Matthew's stomach. "They come from the Turkish ambassador and his wife, that's why they've not subsided." Her eyes never left him, and for the second time today he found himself watching her in stunned silence.

He frowned, and closed his open mouth. He looked down, then up at her again. "Why are you telling me this?"

She tilted her head on one side, and spoke softly. "Because were I to marry, any fiancé of mine would need to face these rumours, and I..." she paused, taking a deep breath, and shook her head. Her hands closed in fists in her leather gloves, and when she spoke again, she wasn't watching him anymore. Her gaze was distant, her beautiful eyes dry now, but the look in them tugged at his heart anyway. "I think... I think it's been quite selfish of me to accept you after all. I think it is better this way. That we're not engaged. You're free from any nuisance my... situation could cause and I'm free to go fishing for a husband in Italy comes September. Yes," she added, looking at him again when she saw he was about to speak. "It's what mothers of our class usually do when a daughter's passed her third season or some horrible stain blights her reputation. In my case it's both, so I suppose I should ask Anna to prepare my luggage already." A small laugh escaped her lips, but it was humourless, and dark, and as she dipped her head again, smiling sadly to herself, her shoulders hunched, Matthew felt as someone had suddenly taken all the air away from his lungs.

He breathed slowly, deeply, for a moment or two, trying to absorb everything that she'd said, but his brain couldn't wrap itself around it, and it was all wrong, all terribly, terribly wrong.

She'd had a _lover_, she'd let another man enter the secrecy of her bedroom, and he had _died_ in her arms, and Matthew's lips couldn't help but twist in distaste and sickness as he recalled the man in question.

_Pamuk_.

He'd taken all her attention that fateful night, and then he took _her_ too, and made her _his_...

But then... rumours, she said.

Rumours meant pitying looks, and whispers behind one's back. They meant less and less invitations, more closed doors, they meant...

And Mary was going away. She was right, of course she would have to. How many stories had he read about dukes' and marquises' daughters sent away to bear their shame? Shipped off in France or Italy or to America, far from the eyes of society until the rumours died. How many of them came back?

_"Poor girl," his mother had commented once, after reading about a Lady Fellowes, "all alone in a foreign country, and all because a gentleman took back his word." _

Was this Mary's destiny?

To tour Italy with her grandmother, maybe her aunt, as she went to party after party, drank cocktails sitting in a long chaise at the Riviera, waiting for some unknowing millionaire to pick her, to court her, to make her his wife?

A wave of sickness caught him again, and he was shaking his head... because it was all wrong! Mary... away from Downton, and all because her reputation was at stake, it was impossible! Yes, she had slept with a man, but to spend her whole life in a foreign country, with some rich, dull, terrible husband who could order her around, and take her away, away from her home, away from her family!

_Away from him..._

Everything in him rebelled at the thought, and he couldn't stay quiet, couldn't let it happen. "No," he said, forcefully, surely, and when Mary lifted her eyes to him, he repeated it. "No," he said again, stepping towards her and stopping short of taking her hand in his. "This isn't right, no matter what you've..." he swallowed and took a deep breath, but he kept looking at her, didn't avert his eyes from hers, pleading with her because she needed to _see_. "No matter what's happened in the past, you can't go, you can't give up on your life like this, don't let them make you."

She looked surprised at his outburst, but her lips pressed together, and she shook her head. "What other choice do I have?" she asked desperately. "I have to marry, Matthew, and soon, and if... if it's not you, then it must be somebody."

"But-"

"There's no but about it! Can't you see? I told you before, that a woman's life is not her own until she marries, and even after that, it's only half hers, it's her husband's really. This is just the way it works."

"It doesn't have to be this way! There must be another way!"

"What other way?" she exclaimed, her arms going up in frustration. "If Patrick hadn't died on the Titanic, I would've been married by now, don't you know?"

And he looked surprised at her, because of course he didn't know.

Another dark laugh came from Mary, and he noticed that her eyes were shiny now with unshed tears. "I kept saying that I was only going to marry him if nothing better came up, but, really, what other option did I have? No one would have an earl's daughter without an earldom, and Patrick was going to inherit everything anyway! This way I would've stayed in Downton at least, and it would've been mine, and-"

But she stopped at once, as she'd said too much and was only now was realizing it.

He'd never known she'd felt this way.

He'd had an inkling she'd felt deeply hurt by how unfair the entail and all that it caused was, but now, for the first time he saw, he understood, he felt how angry she was over all of it, how pained.

_Trapped_.

And then Patrick had died, and he had come in his place. And it had started all over again for her, hadn't it?

_Marry the heir and Downton will be yours_, and really, hadn't he known, right from the start? Wasn't this the first thing he had said to his mother, right after they'd set foot in Crawley House the very same day they arrived here?

_"They're going to push one of the daughters at me."_

Was this what she'd done, really? She'd flung herself to him because it was what was expected from her? That she married the heir? Her only choice?

And then, like lighting, a sudden thought pushed at the front of his mind, breaking the fog of swirling confusion that had taken hold of it for the last hour or so.

"But you accepted me," he said, and he couldn't keep the surprise out of his voice, because... because he had almost forgotten about it, and how could he not, after all he'd learned today, after her truths had sent his mind riling again and again? But the fact remained, that she'd accepted him. So he came closer still, and looked her deeply into her eyes, searching, needing to... to know...

_Hoping_...

"You don't know if I'm still the heir," he went on, swallowing hard, and this time, _this time_, he did take her hand between both of his, as she looked up at with wide, surprised eyes. His heart was beating madly in his chest, and he could hear the blood pumping loudly in his ears, but it didn't matter. He needed to know.

"That is different," she whispered, frowning, as she too searched for something in his eyes, and he didn't know what it was she was looking for, but God, he hoped she found it.

"Why?" he breathed.

And her face softened, as a small smile curved her lips. "Because I love you."

.

_(to be continued)_

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_Oh yes, she really said it..._

_I really hope you liked the chapter, and as always I can't wait to know what you thought about it :)_

_Till next time with the third and last part!_


	3. Chapter 3

And here we are, at last, with the third chapter of a little fic that turned out to be something more than I originally planned.

Like I said introducing the first chapter, I don't think that at that point in their lives Matthew and Mary were really ready to have the conversation they're having in this fic, not by any change, but what's the point of fanfiction if not that of playing with 'what ifs'?

So I really hope you'll like this exploration of mine, with a final chapter that, mind you, is a bit of a rollercoaster (and a long one, as it is!).

As always my thanks go to the wonderful **Orangeshipper** and **AnniellaEyes**, who gave me the confidence I needed at some point, and polished everything up :)

That said... enjoy!

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**Chapter Three**

**.**

They stood like this for what felt like an eternity, her gloved hand in his, his eyes watching her with such... _hope_. But she barely dared to hope herself.

She lowered her head, pressing her lips together into a thin line. "I wasn't sure until you asked me to choose," she said. "Everyone says something different. Aunt Rosamund said to have you wait till the baby is born, and Granny told me to accept you now, and then withdraw if it is a boy." She heard him gasp, and she glanced up at him, her other hand coming over his, squeezing it between hers. "But I couldn't. I told them that's not how we are together, that I couldn't do that to you."

He breathed in relief at her words. "You should have to be a good liar for that to work," he remarked with a twitch of his lips, but she could see the tension around his eyes - so clear in this sunny day, so lively with affection and-

"I could never lie to you," she said, keeping her gaze locked with his. "Not like that. I know I can be a horrible person at times, and I was to you too, but not like that."

"You are not horrible, Mary," he said without hesitation, and she lifted an eyebrow up at him. "You can be when you want to, but that's only a small part of who you are, and it's just for show anyway."

This made her pause, and she frowned as she asked softly, "how can you know, really?" There wasn't allegation in her voice, nor disbelief, only curiosity, because it seemed so odd that he should know when she herself wasn't at all convinced about it. And yet, at the same time, it was so very important that he did know.

He didn't answer right away. He looked down at their linked hands, a soft smile curving his lips as she watched his gaze become distant. "I know because... I saw you laugh with joy and delight, and I think..." he stopped, his eyes lifting to meet hers, and her breath caught in her throat at the emotions that shone in them. She licked her lips nervously, without thinking about what she was doing, and she noticed the way his eyes tracked the movement, his stare so incredibly intense that she had to bite her tongue to keep it from darting past her lips again. She averted her eyes, needing to break contact, and she took a shaky breath, and when he finally spoke his voice was steady and soft. "I don't think someone who can laugh so freely, so beautifully, can truly be a horrible person."

A small smile tugged at her lips, and Mary felt tears forming in her eyes, but they weren't tears of despair, so she didn't mind. She blinked them away easily, and it was her turn to look down at their joined hands, his larger ones encompassing hers completely, his skin warm even through the leather of her gloves.

She focused on the soft pressure of his fingers, and she tried to stamp down the hope that was blossoming in her chest, for she knew that his voice, his gaze, his touch, they all could mean anything and nothing, and she didn't want to fall again, she didn't want to feel that broken again but... oh, but it was utterly useless, as hope had already begun bubbling within her heart, and she couldn't stop it, she didn't know if she wanted it to stop.

Everything in her was telling her to shake away this madness that had come over her, but there were parts of her that wouldn't allow that.

These parts were like spots of light that kept spreading over her soul, and when Matthew's hands slipped from her grasp all of a sudden, and she looked surprised up at him, these spots became larger, propagating slowly but surely as he closed his hand over one of hers, as he guided it to his chest, rested it over his heart, held it there under his.

"Darling," he murmured, and Mary's lips parted, even though not a word fell out of them. She couldn't speak, completely enthralled by him now, her darling, darling Matthew, this man who'd been a stranger come to take all that was rightfully hers, and had conquered her heart instead.

It was beating madly against her ribs, her heart, and for the first time Mary realized that she'd never imagined, never knew... She breathed as she let the sensation flood over her.

"I've never felt quite like this," she admitted quietly, as her free hand found his forearm, pausing there, "and I must confess... it scares me terribly." A nervy smile graced her lips, and she noticed that his eyes too were a little shiny. She leaned in closer as a pressing need of telling him everything made her shake.

It was so difficult to put all that was going through her mind, all that had troubled her these past few weeks, into coherent words. It wasn't how she worked, wearing her heart on her sleeve. No one teaches you these things. On the contrary, she'd been taught to keep her emotions in check, always, propriety the only imperative regulating all her social interactions, especially when it came to men. But... it was so very different with Matthew, always had been, really, if she would care to admit it to herself, and she wanted to try now more than anything, no matter the outcome of this trying conversation.

She kept smiling at him with trembling lips, and she went on as bluntly as she could manage. "But you were right, you see?" she continued. "The insecurity about your future does scare me too, a very great deal indeed. You'll think it's trifling of me, and I'm afraid this makes me sound so very... shallow a person, or very mercenary, I don't know, but I lived my whole life like this, Matthew, and Downton is the only way I know."

"I understand that," he replied, and she knew he did, nothing but acceptance in his eyes.

She hesitated, gathering her thoughts, trying to find the right way, if there even was one. "And... what if I miss it? What then?"

"It is your home."

"Of course, but... it's not just that, Matthew. What if I can't adjust to _another_ home, to... another way of living?" And she paused as she hoped that he would understand what she herself couldn't, fear, worry, and a thousand other shady emotions going through her mind now, like they had these past few days.

"Mary-" he started, but she shook her head, and Matthew fell silent. She glanced over his shoulder at the big house standing behind them, bathed in the sun at this hour of the morning, so grand and beautiful and... _home_. It was the only home she knew, and if... if they married and a new heir was born, then she would have to learn to live without it.

Would they leave Downton? Would Matthew want to stay if he wasn't the heir? Would he want to go to London or Manchester, where he could make a living for himself? But then he squeezed her hand, and as she turned to meet his eyes, she knew that he wouldn't drag her away unless she wanted to. He would stay, for her.

_"Can you really see yourself dawdling your life away as the wife of a country solicitor?"_ Rosamund had asked barely a week ago, and if she was perfectly honest with herself, she could not at the time.

But as she watched Matthew now she realized with clarity that simply hadn't been there before that this wasn't _some_ _country_ _solicitor_, this was _Matthew_, honourable, good, kind Matthew, whose fingers kept caressing hers where they still lay over his morning suits. _Loved_, she thought, and a soft smile played around her lips as she wondered about what her aunt would say if she only knew what she was considering, what she'd already considered, really, _accepted_.

And yet... it was more than just this, because it was easy to admit to be scared of the future and its material circumstances, normal even but...

She could compromise with herself, she'd learned that, and if she paused, and dropped all pretences, if she looked deeply into her own heart, Mary knew that she could try and be content with a smaller house, with a smaller fortune, with just a handful of servants (would Anna go with her, if she asked? Oh, that would be such a consolation, even though Mary wasn't sure it was even fair of her to ask).

She could live knowing that she'd disappointed her family, or part of it anyway - she just couldn't picture her father ever disapproving of Matthew. And after all, she thought with a pang of regret, hadn't she already let down at least half them? It wouldn't make so much of a difference.

No, she could live with her sister's scorn, with her mother's frustration, and she could accept that part of her old circles would forever be closed to her if she married Matthew, the country solicitor no longer heir. She would likely still join in during the season, along with the rest of the family, but she knew she would have to face sympathetic looks disguised as kind interest, and pitying remarks behind her back as soon as she turned it.

It wouldn't be easy, and she would have to work hard not to let sadness, and regrets, and jealousy overtake her every time they would come to Downton to dine, or when they went to London to visit some newlywed girl who'd come out the same season she had. She would have to restrain herself from taking in everything that could have - and should have - been hers, eyes sliding over the details of a life she'd given up for-

She paused, and her eyes locked with Matthew's, whose warmth so close to her was slowly becoming intoxicating.

She was ready to give everything up... for love.

Mary's eyes moved over Matthew's darling face as to memorise every feature, but a deep crease wrinkled her brow, now, because she did love him, she truly did, and she knew that now with a certainty that she didn't have before, not even an hour ago when she'd said yes.

She _loved_ him, and all that she wanted, all that she craved, was for him to be happy, but-

"Mary," he whispered, as if he knew her inner turmoil, as if he could read everything in the tight line of her mouth, even if she hadn't spoken a word. He moved one hand to her face, turning it slightly so that she had to look him directly in the eye, and she found herself captured by his gaze. A shiver ran up her spine as she remembered what she'd said to her aunt.

_"We get on so well, you know?"_ and it was true, but... would they continue in the same fashion for the foreseeable future? Would she continue?

The tip of his fingers brushed the skin of her jaw, and Matthew pulled her to him just slightly.

She went willingly, but not even his touch could chase her fear away. She swallowed, wishing she was wrong about this, that her stupid nerves where really just that, nerves, and that all would go away after a good night's sleep, but how could she pretend she didn't know herself? How could she act as if she were different from what she was?

Once, when Matthew and his mother had come for dinner, soon after their arrival at Downton, she'd flattered herself with a metaphor that was painfully, embarrassingly apparent to everyone around the table, as she compared herself to a princess in need of saving, but she was no Andromeda, and she was no Perseus for certain.

If she looked carefully inside herself, she was more like the sea monster, whose claws could tear and slaughter, whose tongue could scratch and wound, and Rosamund was right, wasn't she? She wasn't cut out for this. Sybil, darling, lovely Sybil could live and love and she would probably marry the man she would love, no matter his title or lack of thereof, never regretting it - _on any terms_ - but could she?

Would she?

And what if she woke up one day, and found out that she couldn't be happy anymore, that she was trapped into a life she wasn't really meant for?

What if she began resenting Matthew for the choice she'd made, because she'd loved him so much?

Love was not always enough, Mary knew this, and she'd heard just too many stories of devoted lovers growing apart with time, living in loveless marriages, each claiming a different wing of the house to live in. They always had big houses, but what about Mary and her lawyer of a husband?

What if she couldn't find respite, what if the only way was to lash out, to hurt with petty arguments and dismissive comments?

What if her sharp tongue darted out to cut?

She swallowed around the knot that was decidedly settled in her throat now, as she wished she were different, as she despaired she would ever be, and she wondered for the briefest of times if this was what praying felt like.

Her head was spinning from all her thoughts, but also from... _him_... They were still so very close, standing only centimetres apart where everyone from the house could see them, and probably already had.

Her hand on his arm tightened, as she needed to call all his attention, even though she knew she already had it, all of it. "I'm not sure I can do it," she said eventually, barely a whisper, finally choosing to bare herself to him, completely, ignoring the mad thump of her heart. "I want to, I really do, but I also know all my shortcomings, Matthew, and I am not sure I can. I'm afraid I'll make you miserable one day, I know I can, and I don't really want to."

And Matthew looked at her too. Holding her eyes, holding her, and... he smiled, a little happy grin lightening his face. His fingers moved lightly over her skin, a soothing caress that left her tingling.

She bent her head a little, because she couldn't think if she kept looking at him, and it was already so difficult to concentrate as it was. Her heart was racing now within her chest, and she closed her eyes, waiting, trying to squash this stupid fear. Praying.

And then Matthew spoke.

"I love you," he said, mouth close to her ear, and his voice was more than just a warm caress brushing her skin. "And I know you love me, darling. I know you do, and I understand your worries and why you're anxious, but there's no need, I promise. It will be enough, Mary. It will be everything. I'll do everything in my power to make you happy, and if your mother bears your father a son, I promise I'll work twice as hard." She looked at him then, smiling just a little because of his words, and his tender, sure tone. She didn't know if it was his words, or the gentle pressure of his fingers, or simply the way he was looking at her, and holding her, but she could feel her doubts and all her unyielding prejudices (yes, even about herself) slowly moving a little out of focus, as his promises reached the deepest recesses of her soul. "I can't guarantee that there won't be any fights or misunderstandings," he continued. "To be honest, my darling, I'm sure we'll fight about a great number of things, some of them trivial, some of them important, and when-" he swallowed nervously, but didn't avert his eyes from hers, "and when children will come, I'm sure we'll fight about how to raise them too. But... we'll be so happy, Mary. I know we will."

Mary took a deep breath, as she let herself believe him, as she let her doubts, her fears, all that still plagued her mind just fade away for the time being, as hope mingled with anticipation in her heart, and all of a sudden she felt like she could let go, light and free, as a wide smile spread freely over her face.

Matthew wasn't going to withdraw his proposal. They really were doing this.

It was this new awareness more than anything that convinced Mary to bring up her darkest secret once more, the one thing that had changed to take everything away. But Matthew had listened to her earlier, and to her shock he hadn't despised her for it. He'd consoled her even.

_"I love you,"_ he'd said again moments before, and as she could feel her heart speed up at the mere memory of it, Mary also knew with absolute certainty that he really did.

That's why she didn't want anything to come between them, and if her own faults and doubts wouldn't drive them apart, she needed to be sure... _he_... wouldn't either.

"And... what about Mr Pamuk?" she asked then. "Would you... could you forgive me? Or would he... resurrect himself every time we argued?"

And Matthew looked calmly at her, and if her question had surprised him, he didn't show it.

"He won't," he said, instead.

"But-"

It was Matthew who shook his head this time, effectively silencing her. "He won't. And I... I don't think there's anything to forgive either, Mary. He was your past, and I want to be your future."

His hand fell slowly from her face, resting on her shoulder for a moment before reaching down to take her hand. She squeezed his fingers with her own, looking hopefully up at him.

"But could you... get over it, Matthew, truly? Won't he be standing between us when... when we are together?"

She swallowed, and hoped he would understand what she was saying because she couldn't say it more openly than this. She didn't need to add anything though, as she saw comprehension draw on him as his eyes widened slightly.

She dropped her eyes on his chest, on their hands that lay still joined over his heart, as a little flush of desire warmed her.

_You'll be still a virgin for your husband_, her lover had said, but she would never be that again, she knew all too well what would happen on her wedding night, and for a long time dismay had seeped into her heart whenever she'd thought about what came after the ceremony, and the wedding breakfast, after the dances and the cheers, when man and woman were finally alone at night.

Not anymore.

Her eyes drifted closed, and the fingers on his chest flexed under his hand as the image of a man in his dressing gown sprang into her mind, only this time his eyes were an astounding hue of blue, and his golden hair glowed in the dim light of the bedroom.

She felt her heart beat erratically against her ribcage, and she thought that maybe she should move away from him, but she couldn't bring herself to step back, and she didn't want to, and it was the most terrifying, and the most elating, thing she'd ever felt.

"I think..." he said, and stopped, and her eyes shot to his, that seemed somewhat out of focus (had his thoughts taken the same path hers had?). He blushed all the way to his ears, and she saw him rub his lips together before continuing. "I think I just... need a little time to... accept that you loved him before you loved me, but I will. I have no doubt I will."

Mary stared at him, because of all of things that certainly wasn't the one she'd been expecting. Matthew's smile fell and his eyebrows knitted together in confusion at her shocked stance.

She tried speaking, but her throat suddenly felt dry. She cleared it. "I didn't love him," she said in a low voice, "I never said I did."

And now it was Matthew who was staring at her in astonishment. His hands left her at last, and just like that they were standing awkwardly in front of each other, still very close, and yet incredibly distant now.

She missed him acutely, but she didn't dare to move.

Matthew was frowning, bewilderment showing clearly on his dear face. "But... then why would you..." he faltered, like he couldn't fathom her reasons, and Mary wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it, and then cry because whatever he'd believe about her it was to be irremediably shattered by her next words. And yet, it was too late to go back now, wasn't it?

"It wasn't love, Matthew. It couldn't be love, I didn't even know him..." and when he kept watching her in silence, she continued, even though desperation was clouding her mind again. She moved her eyes away. "It was lust..." she said quietly, talking more to herself than to him, because he surely wouldn't want her after this, and it broke her heart, but at the same time it made her love him more, for in this very moment, for the first time, she saw, she understood a part of him that she'd never really considered, nor examined before, her darling, good-hearted Matthew for whom love could be the only reason why man and woman could want to lie together. She smiled, but it was only a sad curve of her lips, as tears she didn't know how to cry filled her eyes. "It was only stupid, mad lust, or something in him that I-" she sighed, widening her arms in desolation. "I don't even know. I wish I could tell you I was in love, but I was not. I was a foolish girl who thought she had everything under control. It was a mistake, a terrible mistake for which I'll pay for the rest of my life now. I wish I'd just locked that damn door..." she finally added, so softly that her voice was barely audible.

But Matthew had heard her, and when she looked apologetically at him, shrugging as to dismiss her un-ladylike slip, she found him watching her with the strangest expression, shock and confusion mixing with some other emotion she couldn't decipher over his face, even though it almost looked as if... as if he was... was he angry?

Was he angry at her? Disgusted she'd have expected, but-

But she couldn't elaborate on that because he was moving away, walking a few agitated steps towards the house, and she felt her heart drop, and then beat frantically in her breast as he came back, flustered and agitated, and for a flitting moment she thought he would grab her by the arms and shake her or something.

He stopped right in front of her instead, his eyes burning in the bright light of the morning. She saw him press his lips together, as something was so obviously going on his in mind, troubling him deeply, but she couldn't understand what it was, and he was confusing her, unsettling her even. She glanced down and she noticed that his hands were closing in fists at his sides, but then he called her name, and her eyes were drawn to his again.

"You didn't invite him in," he said, just a hint of a question, and his voice shook, as he was barely able to contain himself.

Mary's eyebrow shot up as she understood that it _was_ anger. Why would he be angry?

"I let him stay," she replied, frowning.

"But- I am right, aren't I? You didn't invite him to your room."

He stared at her for what felt like an eternity, and it was lunacy that she should react like this, seeing the circumstances, but it bothered her to no end that he would think that. "Of course I didn't invite him," she exclaimed. "I might have been foolish, Matthew, but I'm not that much of a stupid girl." _Or of a rebel_, her mind supplied, echoing the words she'd spoken to Pamuk on that fateful night. She didn't want to think about it, honestly, she'd tried to push it at the back of her consciousness in fact, but it seemed that today everything must come undone, and so she kept talking, even though she didn't dare to look at Matthew as she did. She glanced sideways, her eyes finding the bench they'd sat on a handful of times together. "He kissed me, that evening," she told him. "I followed him outside of the drawing room, and he kissed me." She could still feel these hands on her face, and it was disconcerting to notice how different Matthew's hands against her skin had felt only minutes ago. "He asked me to let him come to my room later that night, and I said no, but then when I was already in bed, the door opened... and there he was." She sighed heavily, shaking her head, but still not looking at him. "I don't know how he found my bedroom. I think one of the servants might have indicated it to him, but I can't be certain."

And she wasn't.

In truth, she thought it better this way, that she didn't know, because she wasn't sure she could live in her home knowing who had betrayed her. But then again, her own sister had betrayed her to the Turkish ambassador, so what difference did a servant make? Most of them could barely stand her anyway.

She turned to Matthew when she noted he wasn't talking. Their eyes met, and suddenly his rage made sense, but if she was right he was mistaken. "He didn't force me if that's what you're thinking," she stated, and she was surprised by own steady her voice sounded. "I didn't invite him, but I let him stay."

Matthew grimaced at her words, and she wondered if he would leave now after all, but he shook his head slightly.

"He shouldn't have come," he said. "You said no, and he shouldn't have come... That... _bastard_..." he muttered more to himself than to her, and she was surprised by his reaction.

Her mind drifted back to that evening and she wondered if he'd felt something for her even back then. Had he been jealous when he'd tried making conversation with her but she had been focused solely, foolishly, on the Turk?

He looked down a moment before he met her gaze again, and when he talked this time, his voice was soft, anger subsided now, somehow, as something different shone in his eyes. "I'm so sorry this happened to you," he said.

And again, Mary frowned. "I'm not the victim, Matthew. I'm not the one who died that night."

"But he forced you to-"

"He didn't force me to do anything, it was my choice," she interrupted him, anger flaring within her, but Matthew's lips twisted, and he shook his head vigorously.

"He forced you to let him stay," he said forcefully. "Maybe you decided to let him remain in your room once he was there, but he put you in an impossible position with his actions! No gentleman would've behaved like this, absolutely no one, and he... god, I'd kill him if he wasn't already dead."

And she believed him without a doubt, for she'd never seen him this disdainful, even though it was hard to imagine Matthew punching someone, let alone killing them. But then she remembered Sybil's story, about how brave he had been the night of the count, defending her sister and punching a man in his face to protect her.

She looked silently at him, while he watched her intently, his fists still slightly trembling at his sides, his chest quickly rising and falling, and she could feel passion and love for him blend together with respect and surprise, as she wondered again how could he know?

How could he know how powerless she'd felt that night, as Pamuk had kissed her neck and put his hands all over her body?

How could he know how terrified she'd been, until she'd decided she didn't want to be scared or helpless anymore, and she'd given in to that rush she'd felt since the first time she'd lay her eyes on the handsome foreigner, and even when he'd kissed her catching her completely by surprise that evening, determined to ignore the nagging discomfort that pulsed in synchronous with her heart?

And then Matthew's hand was on her arm, his fingers squeezing her flesh. She breathed, as something passed between them, her sorrow his sorrow now, and she understood, she felt, for the first time in her whole life, that opening herself to love was not a weakness as she'd always thought.

It was an act of faith, of acceptance, an act of bravery, and in this very moment she finally decided that she didn't want to be scared anymore.

Matthew turned her toward him some more, and she found herself drawn to him.

It was inevitable, _he_ was inevitable, and swiftly everything else just faded away.

His eyes shot briefly to her mouth before raising and meeting hers again, and hers followed a similar path as she lowered her gaze on his lips, unable then to look away.

Desire shot through her and she shivered. She wanted him, she needed him, she...

She kissed him.

She pressed her lips to his, sighing at the contact, hands going to his chest, fingers tightening as she felt his muscles tense underneath her palms.

And Matthew didn't waste any time either, as he pulled her to his body eagerly but tenderly, she noticed, as if he was holding the most precious treasure in the world. She felt like she could cry at his consideration, but she could not elaborate on the feeling, for her mind was too hazy in this moment to even conceive anything other than him, anything other than this kiss, or the way he was leaning over her now, the way her back arched to welcome him better.

Matthew's palm found the side of her neck, as his thumb caressed her chin, angling her head, pressing his mouth more fully against hers. His other hand slid down her shoulders, pushing her completely to him as it rested on the small of her back.

They broke apart at the same time, both breathing heavily, but they barely moved, so that they were still entirely pressed up against each other. His breath was tingling her lips, and she couldn't stop from touching them to his again, for only an instant, but when she drew back he followed, his mouth covering hers in a fervent stroke.

They separated again, and her hands came to his face, holding it close, touching his skin tenderly.

His name slipped from her lips in whisper, but she forgot what she wanted to say as her voice went missing into his mouth when Matthew kissed her again, pushing and fondling, pressing, licking her lower lip, making her knees weak.

A helpless moan escaped her throat, her lips parting under his, and suddenly he was tasting her, she was tasting him, and it was too much, as her head began to spin and all blurred in a spiral of warmth, and need, and desire.

She couldn't understand anything other than this, him and her, and their lips and tongues touching and withdrawing, opening and tugging, stroking and exploring.

Her arms slid over his shoulders, hooking at his neck as she stood on her tiptoes, and her fingers delved into his wonderful, thick hair, capturing strands of golden between them and pulling him to her, till Matthew gasped, and his arms went to her shoulders, to her back, to her waist, holding her flush against his body, and she didn't know where she ended and he began.

They broke apart minutes later (had it been only minutes?), gasping for air, and Matthew leaned in closer, his breathing washing deliciously all over her face, over her parted lips. He kissed them briefly and then, "God, Mary," he muttered, "please marry me, I beg you, please."

And laughter bubbled inside Mary as she tried at the same time to catch her breath. She took his face within her palms, eyes roving over it, marvelling at just how loved he made her feel, how wanted, how complete.

"Yes," she said, only a whisper, and then smiled as a grin broke over his face, lighted his eyes, making him look so handsome and carefree and... happy. She wondered for a moment if she looked the same.

Matthew laughed, strong and beautiful, and then took her in his arms, swirling her around, his chuckles mixing with her giggles in the light summer breeze as they spun and turned, and it was as if they were the whole world, the whole universe.

He eased her down on her feet eventually, and when she leaned back, still securely in the circle of his arms, she was met with his glorious smile, and she couldn't help but touch him, fingers skimming lightly over his beloved face, caressing his cheek, his chin, his soft, sensual lips, the pad of her fingers resting there.

Matthew kissed them, and then her again and when they finally broke apart his hand was holding hers, their fingers entwined between them.

He looked at her, and smiled, tugging at her hand, as he indicated the big house behind them with a tilt of his hand. She nodded, and fell in step beside him as they walked slowly toward it, and then a sudden thought made her stop, as she felt warm cover her cheeks again.

"Matthew," she called, and couldn't stop smiling at the loving expression on his face as he turned and watched her curiously.

"Yes, darling?" he enquired, and her grin only widened.

"Have I ever showed you the Corinthian temple my great-grandfather had them build across the lawn?" she asked as coolly as her thumping heart would allow. "You do know, he had artisans come all the way from Greece, because he wanted it to be a perfect replica of some Greek building." She didn't really remember the whole story, and even if she had, it was difficult to focus on history when Matthew was looking like that, all dishevelled and somewhat wild - she could barely imagine how she herself looked after their kiss!

Matthew frowned. "Mary..." he stammered. "Quite honestly architecture is the last thing on mind at the moment," he said, gaze darkening as his eyes fell on her lips, lingering there a moment before meeting her eyes again. "I thought we could go and share the news with the rest of the family," he continued then, ending his sentence with a smile and swinging their joined hands for good measure.

Mary swallowed, and then cleared her throat. "Of course," she agreed happily, "but I was thinking... I know you have a... _passion_ for ancient buildings, and so I wondered if you might... enjoy it for a while before going and make our engagement known. I could very well show you around, if you liked. After all this could still be your home one day, and it's your duty to know it inside and out."

Her grin became mischievous, but her heart was thundering in her breast, and she thought of what else he would know inside and out one day. Or better still _whom_.

Matthew's mouth opened helplessly as comprehension dawned on him, and she watched him press his lips together, but a new glint was his in eyes as he pretended to be pensive for only a moment, before nodding carefully at her.

"I see..." he said, licking his lips. "Well, I can't deny that I do enjoy architecture a very great deal, so if you believe I might like this particular work of art, then by all means I think we should go and see it."

He let go of her hand, fingers sliding over hers in a caress as he did so, and then he gestured for her to lead the way. Mary felt the pang of loss, but supposed that walking the grounds of Downton holding hands with her still not official fiancé simply wouldn't do.

Her heart jumped at the title, but she kept her emotions under control, schooling her features as much as she could.

"Very well," she said as they started walking again, side by side, her voice composed and almost cool, even though she couldn't stop the little smile that curved her lips.

And really, what was the point in even trying?

.

_(the end)_

* * *

_And that is all._

_I admit I have some ideas for what happens after this, but I'll leave them be for now, and I'll leave them to your imagination, because this is the story I wanted to tell :) _

_If you have a moment, I'll be thrilled to hear your thoughts. You know I treasure every one of your words, my lovelies.  
_

_So, that's all for now. _

_Till next time :)_


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